


The Beast With Many Mouths

by youjik33



Category: Chrono Trigger
Genre: Gen, Humor, Post-Canon, Spooky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-24
Updated: 2018-10-24
Packaged: 2019-08-07 00:46:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16398230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youjik33/pseuds/youjik33
Summary: Something has moved into the Mystics' old cathedral, and Frog is determined to keep it from terrorizing the townsfolk.





	The Beast With Many Mouths

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Healy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Healy/gifts).



"It’s true, I tell you," the old man said, leaning over his tankard of cider. "The foulest cry I ever heard. Either a whole pack of monsters, or one with many mouths."  
  
The rest of the tavern occupants, ordinary farmers and tradesmen, kept hushed, eager for the fellow to get on with his story, and he didn't disappoint.  
  
"Most folks have stayed away from the old cathedral, even though, far as we know, the Mystics are beat and cleared outta there. But I tell you now, something else has moved in. Something worse."  
  
"Worse?" squeaked a young barmaid, nearly dropping the mugs she'd been carrying.  
  
The old man nodded sagely, his heavy white brows knitting together. "I should never have gone up there at all, most like," he said. "But I thought, the cathedral's empty now, ain't it? And why not do a bit of wood-chopping in the forest there?"  
  
"Chopping wood?" a middle-aged farmer guffawed. "Wanted to see if there was any loot in the place, more like. Can't fool us, Brand."  
  
Brand took a sip of his cider and ignored him. "'twas yesterday evening, just after sunset, when I reached the clearing where the cathedral sits. Seemed silent as the grave at first. Too quiet, you might say. And then I heard it. A blood-curdling howl, like nothing I ever heard before. Well, I ain’t too proud to say I got out of there fast as these old legs would carry me!” 

“And immediately got into your cups, I’m sure,” the farmer said with a chuckle. “Tell ya what, old man, I’ll get the next one, for telling such a good tale.”

“Is it a tale, though?” another patron spoke up. “I hear they found a woman wandering out that way the other day, confused and disoriented. They took her up to the castle, but maybe she saw it. Something that scared her out of her wits.”

“All I can tell you for sure,” Brand said, starting in on his new mug, “Is that you couldn’t pay me to go back that way again. Not until I had solid proof that monster was driven out, anyhow.”

A chair in the corner of the tavern was pushed back, and the figure sitting in it, unnoticed by any present up to that point, stood up. “If there be a monster indeed,” a voice said from inside the figure’s hood, “’twould be my pleasure to see it causes you good folk no further harm.”

The hooded figure slapped a few coins on the tabletop  beside his empty mug  and departed without so much as a second glance. The rest of the tavern patrons blinked at one another in confusion,  and the gossip quickly shifted to the stranger’s oddly croaking voice, and how the face they’d barely glimpsed under the hood had seemed to have a greenish look.

  


\--- 

The last vestige of twilight lingered in the sky as Frog reached the edge of the forest. The trees, half bare with the approach of autumn, stood stark and black, as though their silhouettes had been painted on a backdrop of gradient blue. A breeze rattled the dry leaves, and Frog found that his hand had gone to the Masamune’s hilt automatically. He wasn’t scared; it was hard to be scared of anything once you’d seen the literal end of the world. But it was certainly eerie, and he sympathized with the old woodcutter.

The cathedral itself was another dark silhouette. Not a light flickered inside, not now that the Mystics had been driven back. In 400 years, Frog  k new, the people of Truce would nearly have forgotten it had ever existed.  How long had it been for the cathedral since the Mystics’ defeat, here and now? Days, weeks? Time had been a bit hard to track lately. At any rate, the cathedral was empty, or should have been.

He blinked his globe-like eyes. There was no moon, and he was thankful for his superior night vision. It would be hard for any monster to get the drop on him.  He approached the cathedral door cautiously, and just as he was about to push it open, he heard it. A long, drawn-out cry, something between a howl and a scream, starting at a low pitch and then growing into a high wail. And it was joined, mid-wail, by another, and another – impossible to say how many, not with the way it echoed off the cathedral’s stone walls. It would have made Frog’s hair stand on end, if he still had hair. But he took a breath, kept one hand on his hilt, and pushed the creaky door wide.

The cathedral seemed empty. Very little light made its way through the stained glass lining the walls, and the pews sat in silent dark rows, like  tombstones . There was no sound at all; the wailing had drifted off on the night breeze, and nothing moved in the shadows.

Frog took slow, careful steps up the center aisle, sweeping his eyes up and down the empty rows, looking for signs of life. There was something unsettling about this place, and Frog was suddenly very aware of how alone he was. That had never been a problem before, in the years since his transformation. But he’d gotten used to traveling in a group, to having friends watching his back, and he found himself wishing they were here now. 

He stopped. Had there been something shuffling in the darkness? Frog slowed his breathing, straining to hear over the wind, which was starting to gust more violently now. There had definitely been something moving, a rustling from under the empty altar.

Frog drew the Masamune, and stepped forward. The angel on the stained glass above looked down on him, its expression  s ad and fearful in the shadowed light. Another rustle. There was definitely something moving down there. The Masamune felt comfortably heavy in his hand, and as the shadows beneath the alter seemed to shift and move, Frog raised his blade, ready to strike at whatever lurked there.

Something moved in the darkness, too quickly for Frog to see, and his blade met metal with an unexpected clang. He jumped back, only to hear a familiar voice say “Really now, what kind of monster are you, attacking a defenseless creature like this?”

Frog blinked in confusion, taking in the sight before him. The metal the Masamune had hit was the curved blade of a scythe, and standing before him stood Magus. And at Magus’ feet was – not a monster, but a cat. A cat that was quickly joined by another, and another. There must have been around a dozen cats swarming from under the altar, orange and white and brown tabby, and their excited mewing filled the room and echoed from the stone walls.

So this had been the “monster” old man Brand had heard in the night. Several hungry cats, wailing to be fed. 

That was one mystery solved, at least, but another was standing right before him. “Wh-what are you doing here?” Frog stammered. “Did you not go back to your proper time?”

“Hmmm,” Magus said, disappearing his scythe with a flick of his wrist. “That’s a question, isn’t it? I spent more of my life here than I ever did in Zeal. I suppose the gate thought this _was_ my proper time, since this is where I ended up.”

One of the cats, a tiny calico, rubbed the entire length of its body against Magus’ shin, and he picked it up thoughtlessly, setting it on his shoulder. It rubbed the top of its head against his cheek; Frog could hear its purring. 

“Or perhaps I no longer have a ‘proper’ time at all,” Magus continued. “Not that it really matters. I had only one real goal in life, and I’ve fulfilled it.”

“But your sister,” Frog said.

“I don’t know where or when she could be. How does one even begin a search like that? I already managed to succeed in one impossible goal. Another would be pushing it.” Magus shrugged, and scratched the shoulder-cat between the ears. Frog thought of the sullen boy they had met in Kajar, trailing after his sister like a shadow, and the cat that trailed after the boy. 

“And what about you?” Magus continued. “Continuing to play the part of the queen’s lackey, because your friend’s ghost told you to, huh?” 

“’tis a worthy purpose, defending the kingdom from harm,” Frog said, ignoring the condescencion in Magus’ voice. “Even when monsters turn out to be naught more than noisy cats.”

“There aren’t many monsters left nowadays,” Magus said. “The Mystics’ war is over without Ozzie to lead them. Did you know there’s a giant statue of me in the back room of this cathedral?” Magus laughed, and the cat on his shoulder dug its claws into his cape to keep from falling off. “An easily-duped bunch of fools, the Mystics.”

Frog would have never imagined he could feel sorry for Magus. But it had also never occurred to him before that the near-legendary evil wizard who had ruined his life could be lonely. 

“So what will you do now?” Frog prodded. “If you’ve nought else, these cats surely aren’t the only creatures the war has left homeless. “

“Really?” Magus laughed again at that. “You really think the citizens of Guardia will be all right with the leader of their enemies running an animal shelter right next door?”

He picked up the cat on his shoulder, tucking it into the crook of his arm as he turned to survey the others, who were variously playing, washing themselves, and napping in pews. 

“Then again,” he mused, “they also aren’t very smart, are they?”

\--

By the year 1000 A.D., nobody could remember why the Truce animal sanctuary was in an old run-down cathedral. And visitors were often quite confused by the statue of a man with a scythe and long cloak in the lobby, and why the plaque below it was labeled “FOUNDER”.


End file.
